


Dareth Shiral

by Grievous_Girl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: BDSM, Dragon Age - Freeform, F/M, Inquisition, Multi, Romance, Solas - Freeform, lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grievous_Girl/pseuds/Grievous_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellana Lavellan doesn't go out much, all her friends tell her so, and she never knew just what she could have been missing out on till her friend Sera demands they spend their Halloween out on the town; at a party. Little did Ellana know that Sera had planned to take her introverted friend to a BDSM club, named Dareth Shiral, and help start up a fiery passion that would define Ellana's entire life; for bad or for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dareth Shiral

**Author's Note:**

> YEP . . . BDSM . . . Its happening. Now, I am not good at writing sex scenes, let alone BDSM, so forgive me if this gets a little weird of cliche. I still hope you enjoy it XD

It was Halloween, I was 23 (obviously far beyond any age to go trick-or-treating) and my friend Sera thought it would be a good idea for us to go to a party; her train of thought being “you need to get out more”. Little did I know the costume and destination she chose for us was going to be so . . . provocative. Looking back now I should have just said no, should have stayed home and ate that one pound bag of candy by myself. I would have been a lot happier that way. But that night, that all Hallows Eve, I was Little Bo Peep who had lost her sheep (her mind) and stood with my bumble-bee-dressed Sera in front of one of the strangest clubs in all of Orlais. 

Dareth Shiral, translation being “Safe Journey”; fitting for a BDSM club. When one comes to their sexual awakenings they want to feel safe, to feel secure; it would be ideal. I remember gawking at the sign, then the line of people wanting to get in, and finally to Sera who (to my anger) was grinning mischievously from ear to ear. 

“Well, Inky? Gonna berate me yet?” She really was a bee.

“I-I’d very much like to! But given where we are,” I nodded towards the glowing neon sign “, I’d think you’d enjoy it.”

“Oh, psh!” Sera gave me a raspberry. “You know I ain’t the tied down sort, ya?”

“Then why are we here?! When you said party I didn’t think you meant-”

“Oh come off it. I’ve seen that nasty, dirty little folder on your com!” Sera’s grin went wider as I blushed in anger.

“Y-You sneaky little-!”

“Come on Inky! You barely go out.” My friend took my hand shaking and started to walk me towards the line, my heels dragging in retaliation. 

“For a good reason!” At the time I was studying my school books, in the middle of preparing for an internship, and painfully taking care of a new litter of kittens for a friend of mine. In my mind I was a busy woman, stuck in my own solar system, and didn’t have time for activates that derailed me from that. When in reality I was a stubborn little know-it-all, hidden under a passive aggressive blanket and shy demeanor. He beat it out of me, with slaps of lust and kisses of pain.

Sera had no more room that night to hear me whine and complain, lost in her eagerness. She would pick and check over our outfits at least 20 times, like a mother making sure her child was ready for a good first impression. I let her fiddle about, my own attention still aimed to Dareth Shiral’s sign; the colors alternating from red to blue every 45 seconds; I kept count. “Shit, one of your bows fell off.”

“I don’t think anyone would notice.” The Bo Peep dress was an overwhelming amount of blues, pinks, white lace, and (yes I kept count there as well) 12 bows. 11 now. Complete with white pantyhose, matching platform mary-janes, an over-sized bonnet, and of course a little, fluffy sheep purse. It wasn’t the most ridicules Halloween costume I had worn before, but certainly the most . . . fetished. I should have known what Sera had been up to when she first showed me the outfit in its plastic cover.

“It’s rented.” She said bluntly, apparently feeling the pain in her wallet already.

Finally we were next in line, a tall, peppered-haired bouncer checking us over; a gruffed voice speaking. “Good evening Mistresses. Papers, please.”

“Papers?” I asked and Sera acted, to my horrid surprise pulling out my most recent physical. “H-How did you-!?” Sera’s hard pinch on my arm made me squeak to silence as the bouncer hummed to himself; big thumbs flipping page after page. It was policy to make sure anyone who entered had a clean bill of health, clean of any STDs, given just what the business was all about.

“Hm. You are cleared for entrance, Mistresses.” He smiled underneath his silver griffon mask and handed Sera back our physicals before going to open up the crimson painted door. “Enjoy your stay. Darth Shiral.” His words were almost lost to me as Sera hooked her arm around mine, leading me past several layers of thick silk and chiffon into the club; little Bo Peep becoming innocent Alice as I went dreaming off into a pounding Wonderland. 

The music was heavy, whirled with Halloween’s taste of loud bases and jolting crescendos; fogged in the air like clouds upon an orange moon. There were masks everywhere, a Masquerade for ghosts and ghouls to play under, with werewolf white smiles and witchy grins. It was haunting. Bodies tossed at each other, in dance and in a mock of affection as the strangers let go into the atmosphere about them. For a second all I could see was Halloween’s cover over it all, but Sera’s voice asking if my own mask was tight enough broke my thought. I gave it a little tug to show her it was secure.

“Ok, good! I’m gonna go get us a few drinks.” Sera said over my shoulder and into my ear, almost yelling to be heard. “Get us a booth, yeah?”

“A-A booth? Where? I’m not sure they’ll have-Sera?” She was gone before I looked, giving a sigh to myself and headed to the outline of the crowds. 

To my surprise it didn’t take long for me to find one, most people out on the dance floor or off doing . . . other things. Lucky for me that night there was a “safe for work” rule in play (at least in sexual activities), so nothing to scandalous was on display; the only pushes on such boundaries being the costumes. There were sexy skeletons, womanly wrapped mummies, promiscuous pirates, the usual from the woman’s section of a store. Men were a mix of police officers, construction workers, a few vampires, and the ever so classic zombies.

My bee came back with two buttered beers, 4 purple shots with candy skulls floating in them, and a fishbowl glass thing filled with a fruity concoction. “Creator’s sake Sera!” I helped her set them down onto our table. “Did you plan to not remember tonight?” 

“Far from, Inky! Com’er!” She pulled me close into a hug, holding up her cell to take a quick picture of us. “I want to remember this night forever – now say Happy Halloween!” We smiled, the phone flashed, and our faces were saved digitally.

To this day I’m not sure how long we spent in that booth drinking, but by the time we worked our way out onto the dance floor my mind was screaming it had to have been hours; spinning around and around in free floating state of living. For that night I didn’t worry about my books, my internship, or even the kittens at home. I was Bo beep and the Big Bad Wolf was waiting. 

I hadn’t even been noticing him till Sera pulled my attention in his direction, but after that I couldn’t help but steal several glances his way. Sera had told me, after we returned to our booth, about how the wolf-masked man had not taken his gaze off of me once; her words were slurred as she spoke on. “Not really my cup of tea, but eh! I was more lookin’ at her.” She waved her glass to a Qunari woman in the distance, her handsome head and horns wrapped in red rope that had been purposely tied in a certain, suggestive, manner. “The Viddasala. Heh, woof!”

“D-do you know his name?”

“Wha-?”

“The one who keeps looking at me.” I could see him form the corner of my eye. 

“Oh! Uhhh-” Sera thought for a moment, eyes narrowing as her memory worked. “I think he’s called Dreaded something. Dreaded . . . no, Dread! Dread-Uh . . . Oh! Wolf.” She nodded. “The Dread Wolf. Guess that explains the costume, yeah?” 

“Yeah. I suppose it does.” And as my gaze went back to the Dread Wolf’s direction my stomach dropped. He was gone from where he had been sitting, a black throne in the far side of the club, and now stalking his way through the outskirts if the party; a wolf circling a pack of sheep and on his way right for the Shepard. We locked eyes and I felt my jaw go slack.

Sera noticed my sudden tension and followed my eyes, her own going wide as she saw the oncoming man. “Oh Shi- . . .Is he actually-”

“I-It would seem. Erm, Sera?”

“Quick, Inky, what color band did you get when we walked in?!”

“Band, wha-?”

“Oh fuck, look!” Sera could not help but clamp a hand over her giddy grin at seeing the paper band upon my skin. Green. I hadn’t even noticed someone had put the accessory on me, holding it up to my face like the thing was a paper parasite. I looked to Sera’s, it was red. The colors worked like traffic lights – Red for stop, yellow for caution, and green for go. I was screwed. “Uh-shit dude! Good luck!”

“Wait-What?! Sera!” Before I had time to grab her the much quicker elf was out of my reach, disappearing into the crowd with her iconic fucking laugh. I could have only assumed that, in her drunken state, Sera thought getting laid by a BDSM Master would do me good? Had it been her plan all along?

The Dread Wolf was still oncoming, only a few meters left between he and I, and that gave me some room for options. A – I could rip off the band and go get my own red one, calmly telling him that it had been a mix up. B – Run out and away from the club as fast as I could. Or C - Kill Sera. Unfortunately the unplanned option D came upon me with his low voice and dark attire, rolling out from a wolf pelt and black mask. “Andaran atish’an, Bo Peep.” 

My words were lost for a few moments, my throat dry and voice tender as he tilted his head in wait. “Good evening, Dread Wolf.”

“You know of me?”

“By name . . . a-and reputation.” I bluffed my knowledge, literally all of it just taken from Sera seconds before.

“Oh? And what reputation might that be?”

“W-Well . . .” I am still unsure to this day how I was able to get any sort of humor into my first impression (even in such terrible flavor as I did), my legs quaking worse than a plastic shack in a hurricane. “Me being a Shepard, I got to be on guard to keep my sheep safe from all wolves. The Dread Wolf most of all.”

“Most of all?” He quoted me with a chuckle. “I take it then that I am not the first wolf you have come across?”

“Y-You would be correct. But most I know wear fedoras, not furs.” As we spoke I took in his costume, all ebony save the silver buttons and red tie. I could not tell what race he was since his ears were covered, but I guessed either human or elf by his body type, nor his hair color or eye color. The Dread Wolf had in red contacts to cover his true color (unless that blood red was his natural hue, but I doubted that greatly), and the wolf head mounted onto his own encased the man’s entire facade; the only facial features being his perfect lips and a dimpled chin. 

He smiled, watching me study him, and moved one of his lanky hands to motion towards the empty bench before me. “May I join you?” My nod was almost automatic, stuck to him as he sat down without a sound. We stared into each other for the longest time, his hands delicately crossed onto the table while mine wrinkled worryingly in my lap. He noticed my stiffness. “This is your first time here.”

“I . . . Yes, Creator’s it must be painfully o-obvious. I-Ir abelas.” Air made its way back into my chest, apparently I hadn’t been breathing. I sighed with a sad smile and shook my head, a laced glove coming to my temples as I rubbed my forehead. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” The Dread Wolf gave another tilt of his head, returning my previous studies onto himself now onto me - his piercings eyes going over my face and neck; I could almost feel the burn of his tracing. But it wasn’t crude or invasive, not that I remember, but it was more akin to how one would stare at a work of art; glorified and appreciated. Maybe it was the twinkling of the drinks in my head, but that night I felt like I was the only star in the Dread Wolf’s sky. 

He smiled and took his eyes down to the littering of empty glasses on the table and I couldn’t help but feel slightly ashamed at just how much I and Sera had drank. His thin fingers went to take a shot glass in a light hold, brought it up to nose, and sniffed. His nostrils flared softly, brow creasing, but still he smiled. “Vodka. Hm, you are uncharastically coherent.”

“High tolerance level, I suppose.” I shrugged.

“ . . . I wonder what enjoyable side benefits would emerge when that tolerance is pushed, in other areas of your person.” His suggestion was not lost on me, my pointed ears burning with a blush. He caught those signs as well, chuckling in a hushed tone. “Forgive me. I should not be teasing you so, not without context.”

“C-Context?” My question was lost as the Dread Wolf stood up, moving to my side of the booth, holding out his hand for me to take. I was a bit baffled at what that meant or where it would lead, the confusion in my eyes drawing out yet another chuckle from the man. 

“Would you do me the honor of sharing a dance with me?” I watched his lips as they made the words, surprised by just how sharp his canines were behind such rosy lips. With a tiny grin of my own I took his hand and he lead me out to the glowing floor, the panels under our feet changing color; all different shades of Halloween – yellows and reds and purples, throbbing with the beat of each song. Lucky for me in that moment the current melody was slower.

I remember feeling a hand on my waist, another clasping with mine, feet shuffling carefully around one another. The mist of people seemed to melt away, the bass of the song beating out the world, and how it felt to have that stranger pull me in with his crimson eyes. It was so hypnotizing that I almost spaced out completely while the Dread Wolf spoke, whispering into my ear. “I would like to ask something of you.”

“Sure. Shoot.” My skin crawled, waiting on every breath he released. 

“Would you consent to stay the night with me?” I guess my expression must have shifted dramatically in that moment, for the mood in my dance partner shifted from casual to serious. “Context. I asked you to dance with me, and you said yes. You could have easily said no.”

“B-but I said yes.”

“Correct.” He nodded. “What I do here, what many do here, revolves around one thing before another act is played. Consent. I want you to say yes.” The Dread Wolf pulled me close to him, but not so close as to make me uncomfortable; in fact I look back now and I was never uncomfortable with him. Not once. “I want you to say yes to dancing with me, being with me, playing with me. I will give you what you need, though perhaps not always what you want. I promise to take care of you and stop at any time should you become weary.”

“Y-You do this with e-everyone that catches your eye?”

“No. Not everyone.” He spoke with such pride that it sent a heat to my stomach, or was that the beer? “What is your name?” The Dread Wolf put another whisper to my ear and I was certain I could have felt the trace of his lips upon my skin. 

“Will Bo Peep work?”

He shook his head at my question. “No. Your name, your true name. You shall not be in this outfit for all time, and I would not have you be a nameless fetish.”

I swallowed hard, trying to think over the consequences of it all, but all I could understand was the vibrating depth of his voice and the sturdiness of his hand over mine. “A-And you? Would I keep calling you the Dread Wolf?”  
“Fen’Harel.” He smiled again. “Or Sir. Now,” I could almost hear the strain in his voice, the small dents of desperation crawling for a way out. “, your name, please.”

“ . . . Ellana.” My first name slipped out like water, with an ease I had not foreseen.

“Ellana.” He repeated the name, again and again, rolling about on his tongue as if it were a sweet treat. “Ellana . . . before we continue I must know how far you are willing to go with me.”

“T-The consent.” I stammered out.

“The consent.” He echoed. “Should you say yes – I will turn you away from the dance floor, lead you to my private quarters, and you will be mine for the night.” As he spoke I could feel our dancing bodies grow closer, the temperature escalating rather quickly as lace rubbed against fur in a fairytale sin. “Afterwards, should you wish, we can see each other again. And again.” I had not even noticed my head was tilting back until his lips were brushing against my exposed neck, tantalizing my senses with such subdued sensations to where he felt like air. “And again . . . Ellana.” He paused, piercing eyes catching mine in a fiery possession I had never seen before; from anyone. “Do you consent to stay the night with me?”

Looking back again I know if I had said no the Dread Wolf would have been very kind and very friendly about the denial, but he would not ask of me ever again. He would have gone about his life without a second thought of me, and nor I of him. We could have been happy, oblivious to any future of each other and content with our own separate lives. But Fate had different plans. She bound us together in leather leash and braided rope, flavored us with chocolate kisses and salty blood. We were doomed by her hand.

“Yes.”

“Good. Thank you, Ellana. Come.” His request was short, a command really, and his hands slipped around my wrist as he lead me out of the dancing people; my heels clicking after him like a wild beat of a heart. The wolf head to his costume covered his neck and shoulders, not a very interesting view to see as I was lead up turning stairs and narrow hallways, but sometimes from the right angle . . . I could see a domineering smile set to his lips; something almost feral, truly wolf like, in his silent glee of finding me.


End file.
